User blog:ToastSoul/Sazanami gets drunk
In celebration(?) of the end of the anime, because everybody loves sub-par fanfiction! “I think you’ve drunk too much, Sazanami,” Oboro says, taking a sip of her cola before returning to the paperwork I had intended to do. I’d say she’s hit the mark. The warmly lit orange ceiling is swimming circles above my head and the generic jazz music playing from the outdated radio in the corner of the bar is starting to sound like Mozart’s 5th Symphony. Behind me, the voices of the other patrons blend together into an unintelligible chorus, most likely singing of my demise or something along those squirming, blurry lines. More empty glasses that I can currently count sit in front of me, left behind as a constant reminder of how much I’ve drank, how much I’m going to need to pee in a few minutes and how much the me of tomorrow will hate the me of today. “Erm swill sobrr.” The words tumble out of my mouth, horribly slurred to the point where even I do not recognise what I am trying to say. My voice itself has become an item to the alcohol, unknown and foreign. “Wan moar beare pleaz,” I attempt, resting my forehead on the bench top and hoping that one of the two staff members the of the tiny bar, Ryuuko or the waitress Miss Tao, will notice my drunken plea aimed at nowhere in particular. A few, or perhaps a great many moments later, I hear the solid sound of a glass being placed before me. The liquid inside is clear and a face stares back at me from within the glass, red and completely messed up. I briefly contemplate what would happen if the liquid was vodka. Would I live through it? Most likely. The clear liquid is water, naturally. The obvious conclusion would be that either Oboro told Ryuuko to give me something non-alcoholic, or that Ryuuko herself became concerned with my rapidly decreasing physical state and took it on herself to prevent me from wasting all my money while I am hopelessly drunk. My intoxicated mind, however, seems to prefer the idea of a grand conspiracy where the entire world is against me and I must team up with my faithful drinking buddy, Oboro, to save the princesses Ushio and Akebono locked up in a dungeon guarded by a fire breathing Abyssal dragon. These dramatic dreams of a fantastical fantasy world continue until they are eventually interrupted by the arrival of some familiar faces - the submarines, I-168 and I-58 along with my former therapist, Masami Toguchi. “Well, well, well, my little Sazanami! I thought I told you to not drink so much,” he chirps, smiling from ear to ear before taking the seat next to me. The two submarines order their drinks from Ryuuko and sit down at a table away from us, their voices drowning in the sea of every other meaningless thing. “Screw you,” I manage to clearly pronounce, putting an excessive amount of energy into making sure at the least, that gets across. “Erm nought yur ‘little Sajanami,’ Mazami.” “That’s true,” he accepts, chuckling. “Two daughters are already enough worry for me.” He catches Miss Tao in a hug as she walks by, who in turn hugs him back. Ryuuko watches somewhat embarrassed, but smiling as she finally decides to take on the monumental task of clearing away all the glasses I’ve used. Somewhere deep down inside me I fail terribly to convince myself that I’m not jealous of them. The ceiling isn’t quite as orange as it was before, I think to myself. “I have very little confidence you’ll be able remember this,” he begins, drawing my attention back down to a white piece of paper he has placed before me, “but we have two new admirals coming to the naval base on Monday.” Remembering what happens while I’m drunk seems to be a superpower of mine; not that I want to remember all the times I’ve thrown up on other people. The words on the page are a completely different matter though, or at least I assume they are, because I can’t see any on the page. “We don’t know much about the guy who has been assigned to you, but he’s been directly recommended into the system by the government.” That’s interesting. I thought the whole point of the ‘Admiralty Program’ was that the government didn’t need to do anything except provide minimal amounts of money each month to the participants. I resort to grunting a vague response as if I’m reading the details. He doesn’t seem to be fooled by it, but this seems to be the outcome he had expected. I hear the sound of Ryuuko placing a shot of alcohol in front of Masami, a shot which I promptly steal and drink in one go. It’s water. Masami smiles bemusedly. I’ve been tricked, the bastard knows me too well. Damn mind-reading therapists being too bloody smart. “I hade yu,” I say without much strength, my voice shaking like that of a child who has had their favourite ‘blankie’ taken away from them. My head once again rests on the benchtop; whether for physical exhaustion, mental fatigue or just plain drunkenness I do not know. “I’m sorry, Sazanami,” he apologises in a very serious tone, placing a warm hand on my shoulder, most likely knowing perfectly that I, an emotional drunk, will break out into an alcohol fueled crying fit at the slightest hint of kindness. “Listen, you might’ve been cleared already, but we both know that doesn’t mean it’s all over and done with.” The tired lecture begins once more, reminding me of the odd set of circumstances that all of us ‘beings’ created from the cold, steel shells of the war face - whether to accept the past as a vital part of our being and be tied down by the title of a machine of war, or to cut the actions of the ‘other selves’ out of our lives and hope that our current being is enough to sustain life on its own. For the time being, at the very least, it appears as if the second option is almost a physical impossibility. The government forbids any of us much interaction within the community, our existences largely defined to them by our sole ability to ‘save the world’ by doing what ‘humans’ can’t by fighting off the Abyssals. Right from the get-go each of us was told our role, inducted into an inescapable system before we could even recognise our own bodies. Public events, working part time, living outside a naval base specially designed for us; all of them are things that will remain in a world far, far from ours. Masami eventually finishes his preaching and disappears upstairs, presumably to go to bed; a feat I must applaud him for being able to do above this noisy joint without being drunk. Strangely enough, my face is still remarkably dry. I falsely attribute it to what personal growth I am surely making in my quest to save the world from a generic, faceless enemy. “About time for us to leave?” Oboro suggests, folding both our documents away into her pockets. I simply hold my arms out towards her, not trusting in the integrity of my own words. She barely catches me before I fall off the stool, the chronic lack of back support being one of the major flaws I see in this place. Not only do I regularly fall backwards off these stools, the genius technique of slumping forward to counter this so that I can only fall forward onto the bench has started to result in a barely curved back that makes me almost one centimeter shorter than I actually am. As much as it seems like no big deal, that fraction of a centimeter puts me shorter than Akebono, a fraction of a centimeter that I cannot grow naturally. “Don’t worry about payin’ for tonight’s drinks,” I hear Ryuuko say as Oboro gently hoists me onto her back. I wrap my legs and arms around her and cling to her as if the floor is lava and if I fall I will subject myself to a comical video game-like death. Oboro throws her device in front of Ryuuko, before turning towards the exit. “Just take the money. You need to fix that clock, right?” She refers to the grandfather clock guarding the right side of the doorway which has always sat frozen, it’s hands tied to the numbers nine and three for as far as I can remember. Ryuuko seems to hesitate before giving in and picking up the smartphone-like piece of technology. “Masami’ll bring it back to you tomorrow. Your hands seem a little busy right now.” We leave the bar and I feel the cold sea breeze run lines across my face, dragging my head closer and closer to Oboro’s sandy hair in a bid for warmth. Her neck is pleasantly warm and I can feel the controlled and steady breaths she takes as we start to run by the ocean towards the station. “Don’t worry,” she says, her heavy steps clouding over the almost silent rippling in the seemingly endless night. “We’ll make it this time, for sure.” We both know the last train left a very, very long time ago. Dialogues: Niishiro 1 → Chapter 2: (re)start → Category:Blog posts Category:Fanfic